


Tequila Sunrise

by Auntie_Diluvian



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Misunderstandings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 23:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntie_Diluvian/pseuds/Auntie_Diluvian
Summary: Contained within, you will find a tale in which:• For exposition's sake, you get drunk with your good buddy Papyrus• A kitten inadvertently turns out to be the best wingman you've ever had, and• You start your morning off right by making an ass out of u and... really, just you.





	Tequila Sunrise

Papyrus was.

the. 

fucking. 

_ best. _

“P- Hey. Hey Pap.”

Papyrus slammed down his cup.

“WHAT!!!”

The table, and indeed, the entire house, rattled.

“Guess what!”

“WHAT!!!” he repeated.

“You are. The. Fucking. Best.”

“I KNOW!!! THANK YOU FOR NOTICING!!!”

“I love you so much, dude.”

“I LOVE YOU AS WELL! H- HOLY MACARONI, WE? ARE A DREAM TEAM. A TEAM OF DREAMS. JUST A COUPL’A DREAMS, ON A TEAM!”

“That's exactly- ok, yes, that's exactly how I feel. And thass’ all we're ever gonna do, you know?  like.  _ Be  _ that. The dreams.”

“YES!!!” he whispered.

“Have you-” you burped, “shit, have you been keeping count? Because I think, like, maybe I haven't been for like… the last hour or so?”

He clapped his hand over his mouth. 

“OH NOO!” he said, voice hoarse from being even louder than usual, and perhaps from the burn of all the tequila. “HOW WILL WE EVER KNOW WHICH OF US IS BETTER AT DOING DRINKING,  _ NOW? _ ”

“Well, so, it's like, if I, if I fucking, um, do another one?  _ Pretty _ sure I'll puke so, if  _ you _ can do another, I’ll concede victory to you, because, you know fucking why, dude?”

“FUCKING WHY!”

“Because you're the  _ fucking _ best.”

Papyrus squealed in delight and downed another shot, hurling his lime wedge at the ground with lethal force and subsequently pumping both fists in the air. 

“BY GOLLY MISS MOLLY, WAS THAT EVER A MISTAKE. YOU KNOW THE GREAT PAPYRUS?”

“I do, indeed.”

“WELL, HE NEEDS TO LIE DOWNSIES. GOOD NIGHT!”

Papyrus wobbled, like an eight foot tall newborn gazelle, out of the kitchen and over toward the stairs, then halted. You followed and nearly collided into his backside.

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS… ENCOUNTERS A TRAP.”

“Oh no!” you wailed.

“AS HE OFTEN DOES! HOWEVER! THIS ONE HAS OFFENDED HIM!”

You gasped.

“AND THEREFORE! AND THEREFORE, HE SHALL NOT BE GIVING IT THE TIME OF DAY UNTIL IT CHOOSES TO BE A MORE REASONABLE KIND OF WALKING SURFACE! LIKE A RAMP, OR A… ECSCLAVOTER, OR A- WHAT'S ANOTHER WAY TO GET,  Y’KNOW,  _ UP _ .”

“A trampoline!”

“A TRAMPOLINE? BRILLIANT! I'M TOTALLY INSTALLING A TRAMPOLINE HERE TOMORROW. THANK YOU, BEST HUMAN, FOR THE SINGLE BEST IDEA I'VE EVER HEARD, BESTLY.”

Papyrus fell halfway onto the couch, face first, pelvis in the air over the armrest, and crawled forward with great difficulty until only his shins were hanging off.

“HELLO THERE, COUCH,” he said suggestively, gently caressing a cushion. “IT'S BEEN A WHILE.”

He turned his head to the side to address you.

“SANS THINKS HE AND THE COUCH ARE EXCLUSIVE, BUT THE SECRET IS, REALLY SHE LOVES ME, TOO. WE'RE HAVING AN ILLICIT AFFAIR. DON'T TELL SANS.”

“I’d never,” you promised, “But does that mean not all of the stains on it are his?”

“DON'T BE A NASTY,” he scolded, dramatically flopping over onto his back and pulling the throw blanket over himself. “DO- DO YOU KNOW WHY THIS COUCH IS _SO GODDAMN_ _GOOD?_ ”

“Because it's comfy to sleep on an’ knocks ya right out?” you asked, yawning. 

“YOU WOULD THINK THAT, BUT NO. NO, THAT'S NOT IT.”

“Then wha’izzit?”

Your eyelids were getting heavy and it took you a good ten seconds to realize he had already fallen asleep.

That last shot must have really done him in, because the stairs really didn't look too difficult to you. Then again, your center of gravity was considerably lower, and the steps were a bit narrow for his enormous feet. You took them on all fours, just in case, though. You assumed Papyrus wouldn't mind you sleeping in his bed, since you'd done it before and he was currently being spooned in the loving, cottony embrace of Couch, so you made for his room. His door was cracked open, but as soon as you entered the room, the fluffiest black kitten in the whole world shot out between your legs and back down the hall.

You gasped.

“Bookman!” you called out, kissy noises and all, “Booie! Bookitty kitty meow meow meow!”

You crouched in the hallway, hoping to summon the kitten to you, but he had already disappeared into Sans’s room, evidently unimpressed by your eloquent entreaty for his royal attentions.

“Blagh,” you groused, “Kitty! Let me love you, dammit!”

You tried to stand up, but instead fell backwards on your ass. You crawled after him and pushed the door open to find the kitten playing in Sans’s unmade bedsheets.

“Hey, Booie,” you called softly. He stiffened at your approach, but seemed to recognize your scent after he'd had a good sniff of your hand, and head-butted you and let you clamber up onto the bed next to him and stroke his back. Soon, though, he grew tired of your attention and went back to kneading the sheets, allowing you to pet him every minute or so. You slowly reclined, bit by bit, as you watched him tire himself out, until you both eventually fell asleep.

You woke up a few hours later, your mind foggy and your body hot, clothes and the sheets beneath you damp with sweat. You drunkenly fumbled out of your clothes,  _ all  _ of them, and rolled over to the other side of the bed.

“ _ Much better _ ,” you mumbled, falling back into a blissful slumber.

Hours later still, you felt the mattress springs buoy you upwards as someone else shifted on the bed. You had just enough presence of mind to take stock of your nudity and the presence of someone else with you in a bed that was not your own, and therefore drew the conclusion that it must have been  _ that  _ kinda night, which was a situation for  _ future _ you to overanalyze; sleepy 5:37 A.M. you was cool with it.

What you could not have deduced was that when Sans first got into bed, he had not the slightest inkling that he might not be alone.

His hand skittered and scrambled across his nightstand, groping for his phone to check the time at about 8:43 A.M., and he, having only had roughly three hours of sleep, would normally have been perfectly content to doze off again, but the morning light streaming through his window reflected an odd lump behind him in the glass of his phone’s screen. He rolled over to find… hair. Skin, a neck, a shoulder. The barest hint of the profile of a face, which he groggily recognized as yours.  _ What were you doing half naked in his bed? _ He glanced off the other side of his bed and saw where you'd strewn your clothes across the carpet. Shirt, bra, pants _ …  _ socks _ …… underwear………  _

_ What were you doing completely fucking assbutt naked in his bed? _

He couldn't just wake you up and ask you- he'd seen that movie, and it always winds up with some idiot with  _ no _ awareness of the trope he’s in, saying, "wait, I can explain!” and consequently getting pummelled with furniture while protecting his groin with a comically shaped lamp.

Not to mention, he  _ couldn't _ explain, even if he  _ were _ dumb enough to claim as much.

He tried to think, to remember- but no, he'd been stone cold sober when he got home, straight from his night shift. You must have already been in his bed by then.  _ Why? _

He knew you were planning on staying over. He'd caught wind of you and Papyrus's plans to attempt to drink each other under the table. But you normally slept on the couch when you stayed over, or in Papyrus’s room, a couple of times. Maybe you had been so plastered that you just fell asleep in the first room you came to. But then, how had you made it up the stairs?

No, no sense in attempting to apply logic to the inner workings of a drunk person.

Still, he wasn't looking forward to the distinct possibility of you waking up and assuming the worst of him.

Really, he should go- preferably as quietly as possible.

He gently lifted the blankets to slide out from underneath them, but then you rolled over onto your back, an arm thrown above your head, the movement uncovering a bare breast.

He stared pointedly at the ceiling, holding his breath.

Maybe… maybe you wouldn't assume the worst. Maybe you'd done this on purpose, and he  _ hadn't  _ been imagining you flirting with him over the last few months, and this was your drunken attempt at seduction, and you'd waited up for him as long as you could.

He allowed himself a peek, only out of his peripherals, which was a mistake, but one he wanted to repeat.

He tilted his head to the side millimeter by painstaking millimeter, careful not to even rustle the fabric too loudly, until the image of you was no longer blurry, and he released an unsteady, measured exhale.

His caution notwithstanding, you picked that exact moment to peer at him out of one bleary eye.

He lay still as the dead, aside from the infinitesimal settling of his molars being ground together as he clenched his jaw even harder than before.

“Mm, hey,” you sighed, not a care in the world to match his thousands. You scooched closer. You snuggled up to him, an arm and a leg, over his body, under the covers. Your head encroaching on his own pillow, your morning breath gently puffing down his neck.

You fell back asleep.

At least you weren’t throwing furniture.

It was clear enough you thought  _ something _ had happened. Maybe it was an admission of sorts, and maybe it wasn’t; he was still disgusted by how happy he was that the idea of having slept with him didn’t cause you to projectile vomit.

Maybe he didn’t  _ have  _ to tell you that nothing happened. Maybe he could just let you assume away, and maybe that way, you’d be up for it again sometime. Not that it would really be an again at all.

Nah, he’d screw that up, too. He’d be too excited, too nervous, too  _ desperate _ , for someone who’d already fucked you once.

He was going to have to tell you.

...In a minute, though.

No rush, right?

No rush at all, except the one accumulating between his legs the more he tortured himself with all the possibilities of you, naked, in bed with him, for reasons he could not fathom but wasn’t ungrateful enough to continue to speculate on- at least, more than he already had.

Downstairs, a pot clanked in the sink, and you sniffed and yawned.

“‘Time is it?” you asked, not bothering to open your eyes.

“little after nine,” he replied as flatly as he could manage.

You grunted and raised your hand to rub the sleep out of your eyes. You squinted and blinked until your eyes finally focused on his.

You stared at him, and he at you, and neither of you moved, until finally your lips curled into a small, private smile.

_ Of course you came on to Sans last night _ , you thought. You remembered being drunk enough not to care, if nothing else. What a shame about that. You would have liked to have remembered it. You could only hope you hadn't completely embarrassed yourself.

You turned from him and stretched and sighed, hands covering your face and running through your hair.

“So,” you mumbled into your pinky finger.

“uh-huh,” he said.

“Sooo,” you repeated, “I don't actually- I feel terrible about this, but I don't actually remember what happened last night?”

“oh,” he said. “really?”

You grimaced.

“Yeah,” you said through gritted teeth, “not particularly. Last thing I remember is coming up the stairs.”

You studied his face for any hint of what might be going on in his mind, but all your confession managed to pull from him was a slight nod, and he was as inscrutable as ever.

The only…  _ scrutable _ thing about him, you finally noticed with no small measure of relief, was his erection, an unmistakable lump beneath the covers.

He followed your line of sight and something like an epiphany hung in the air between you.

“It's a shame, but lucky for me, you look like you might be in the mood to jog my memory a bit?”

Your hand, warm and soft, closed around him, warm and  _ not _ soft.

“oh, hi. hi. yeah- yep,” he breathed, almost pained.

“Hi,” you said, grinning, almost amused.

“ _ fuck. _ ”

The tip of your thumb dipped into the bead of cum forming at the tip, and your spread it around, teasing, at first. You began to stroke him, unhurried, and made yourself comfortable with your chin resting on his upper ribs and your half-lidded gaze searching his face.

“Ohh, is  _ that _ what we did?”

“ahaha,  _ ahh- _ ” he hissed, “mm, uhh, no?”

Already, he noticed the gears in your head start to turn, doubt seeping in through the cracks in your memory.

You blinked it away and covered it with a crooked grin.

“Okay,” you drawled, “so what  _ did _ we do?”

He cursed himself for choosing  _ this  _ of all moments to start telling entire truths, and you must have caught on, because your hand stilled on his cock.

“nothing.”

You released your grip, still smiling but for your eyes. You sniffled.

“How, um- how do you mean?”

He sighed deeply and pinched just above his nasal bone, eyes closed and brow furrowed.

“uhhhh, how do i put this? i didn’t even know you were in here ‘till about, mm, twenty minutes ago.”

You retracted your hand and all other imposing body parts from his person and pulled the covers up to your nose, eyes wide.

“Oh my god.”

He could feel your every muscle tensing up next to him.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“‘s really ok.”

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck me- not literally! Fuck. I can’t imagine what you must think of me right now. I- ohh,” you trailed off into a miserable groan. “I promise I don’t normally just turn up naked and latch my grubby little hands onto penises all willy-nilly first thing in the morning without a  _ pretty _ good reason. I’m sorry I did and that it happened to be yours.”

_ He _ wasn’t, and barely stopped himself from laughing at the idea.

“it’s fine. no harm done. i just thought maybe you oughta know. y’know, before you, uh.”

You gasped, cupping your hands around your mouth.

“I just- I almost- I  _ did _ !”

He sat up a bit on his elbows, leaning over towards where you were slowly drawing your body up into a horrified ball, which was, thankfully, kind of a boner-killer.

“hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. i wasn’t exactly, y‘know, complaining.”

It was the closest he’d yet come to a confession, if you didn’t count waking up to him staring at you with a hard-on, and perhaps it was only because of those circumstances that he managed the words at all. You halted your progress in your inevitable compaction into a mortified diamond, though, and he supposed that made it worth it to have said something.

“I… guess not.”

“there, see? we’re cool.”

Slowly, your body unfurled under the covers, next to him, and you finally met his eyes again.

“Okay.”

“cool.”

He nodded repeatedly, gazing up at the wall across from him, since trying to read the shape of your curves under the blankets would put him right back in the same position that had started this whole mess.

He felt you sit up next to him, pressing the sheet to your front, but out of his peripherals, could just see the skin of your back, the bend of your spine. He bolted upright, wriggled towards the edge of the bed.

“so i’m just gonna leave the room for a minute, let ya get dressed an’ whatever.”

You snorted.

“God, why bother? I already flashed you all the goods.” Your shoulders slumped. “Kidding. I mean, kind of. Not really. Actually, honestly, fuck it,” you declared, flinging the covers off. “I should be the one to make the walk of shame here, you know?”

God help him, he really did try to keep his eyes to himself this time. But you were inviting him to look at you, albeit in that flirty, facetious tone he’d come to expect from you when you were testing the waters for how far you could take your teasing. He kept his eyes up on your face, more or less, except when he couldn’t, except when they were everywhere but, when he had to blink away reflex tears because--god  _ help _ him--it actually hurt to look at you.

You rose up on your knees and said something like, “I do need you to move so I can get out of your bed, though,” but the words didn’t quite connect, as all he could do was sit with one leg dangling off the bed, breathing turned ragged, staring off in the other direction as his cock hardened right in front of you, softly illuminating his boxers and the spreading wet mark at the tip, nowhere to hide.

You abandoned whatever plans you'd just made to leave and sank back down onto the bed, resting on your hip.

“I think maybe the kind of person who  _ doesn’t _ turn up naked in their friend’s bed without having actually slept with him first would say this was a pretty bass ackwards time for me to bring this up, but… I really like you. If that wasn’t obvious, yet.”

The only indication he gave of having heard you was the way his eyelids fluttered shut, the tiny, pained grunt he made, and the way his cock jumped.

You scooched closer.

“This isn't how I ever imagined this all going down, but- do you think you could ever be attracted to me?”

When he opened his eyes again, you were grinning sheepishly at him.

“gee. i dunno,” he deadpanned, gesturing at his hard-on.

Your face contorted with barely-contained amusement.

“Okay, it’s just, I’m trying this new thing I just learned about? It’s called ‘not jumping to conclusions,’ and I’m  _ very _ new at it, apparently.”

He fell backwards, his head hitting his pillow with a  _ fwomp _ as he leveled you with an exhausted glare.

“i got somethin’ else you can… uh, jump… to. -on, whatever.”

He felt himself sink further down into the mattress as your knees straddled him, almost as he said the word, and contrary to all known laws of thermodynamics, the radiant heat of your body sank and settled on him, and enveloped him in your scent as well.

“You know, I’m half-expecting you to pull a trampoline out of your ass?”

“you shouldn’t give me ideas.”

You bit your lip. 

“Well, then. Last chance to resolve any remaining huge misunderstandings. Anything else you wanna ‘fess up to?”

“heh, you shouldn't push your luck, either. almost just let you assume whatever you wanted, was gonna see where that took us.”

“Oh?” you asked, eyebrows raised, “Well, hypothetically… I guess I could  _ show  _ you what I think would've happened.”

He shuddered at the fumble of your fingers, brushing his cock as they tugged his boxers down to his knees.

“sure, make yourself at ho-”

It was a lunar landing of a kiss, your extended lips on the broad surface of his own mouth, but he reacted to it just the same, with a tiny gasp and fingers tangled in your hair.

“-ohh-”

It was a sound he made, muffled by your lips, and then he choked on it when you sank down onto him, not  _ just  _ his cock, but the rest of him too, your skin, hot and yielding where it met him, hard.

“-ohome,  _ fuck _ , that's good.  _ fuck. _ ”

You were just warming up.

  
  
  
  
  


At noon you awoke again to the sound of tiny claws scratching on wood. You climbed out of bed as quietly as you could, and put your underwear and shirt back on before opening the door and scooping up the tiny black furball in your hands. You held him to your chest and got back in bed with Sans, pressing a kiss between fuzzy ears.

“Thanks, buddy,” you whispered to him. “You're a pretty good wingman, now that I'm starting to remember.”

“how’zat?” mumbled Sans.

“Followed him in here last night.”

“mm, but you were the one who got naked. don't think he helped you with that part. unless he did, an’ then, i don’ wanna know about that.”

“That's true, I guess.”

Bookman squirmed in your arms until you let him go. He used his freedom to bat his paw at Sans's mouth.

“cut it out, asshole, i know where that paw's been,” he said, holding the kitten aloft. “nah, you're givin’ him too much credit. ya can lead a human to a skeleton, but ya can't make ‘em screw.”

You snorted.

“That's where the tequila comes in?”

“that's where the tequila comes in,” he agreed.


End file.
